


Blooding the Water

by wily_one24



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, obviously, oh the snark, stranded on a desert island trope, swan queen on an island, the potential for tropical heat sexy times, you know you want to read this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wily_one24/pseuds/wily_one24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We were in the air for a good four hours, maybe more.” She could see her scan the horizon, calculating the distance and times and position of the sun. “So, my best guess is, we’re somewhere between New York and Royally Fucking Screwed. Are you paying attention?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Pairing:** Emma/Regina  
>  **Rating:** Eventually M/NC17, but this chapter is mild  
>  **Timeline/Spoilers/Setting:** Current timeline, everything up to "Manhattan", set neither in Storybrooke or Fairy Tale Land.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Raise your hand if you think these characters are mine? Go on. Nobody? No. Didn't think so.  
>  **A/N** : If this seems familiar to any of my loyal past fandom followers, don't spoil it for others. Yes, it comes from an abandoned fic that I never posted online and never actually wrote more than a few scenes. But it has been completely reworked. I might actually *write* this one.

**BLOODING THE WATER**

**_v: to add blood to water for the purposes of attracting sharks and/or other similar predatory creatures._**

***

“Say, Regina?” A teasing, superior little drawl set her teeth on edge. “You hungry?”

Regina smiled, bright and sharp and completely insincere at the little package of stale peanuts that was waved in her face. 

“Cute.”

She flicked another page of her magazine, snapping it pointedly. 

It was not supposed to work out like this. Finally coming to the end of her rope, Regina had come to the realization that the way to get Henry back was not trotting after her mother like some whipped puppy begging for attention, and certainly not letting Emma call the shots. No, the only way to assert her rightful place in his life was to actually _assert_ it. 

So she had flown to New York with the express purpose of confronting Emma Swan about all the things she had tried to pull in regards to Henry. 

That was the plan. 

It hadn’t quite happened like that. 

Like most of their emotionally charged encounters, she and Emma had ended up shouting and, unfortunately, a punch or two may have occurred. In Storybrooke, that led to frowns, seething resentment and avoiding the other party for a few days. Apparently, in New York, that sort of thing required onlookers to call the police. That ever pervading need to interfere. 

One of the main reasons she had kept Storybrooke from the outside world. 

And Regina, having finally expected to at least be able to take her son home where he belonged, had been confronted with not only the horror of learning his true parentage, but the indignity of being fingerprinted and taken to a police station. As if that hadn’t been bad enough, it had been Emma Swan of all people who had gotten her out of it. 

A _sheriff_ she’d pleaded, as a professional courtesy she sure would appreciate it if they let _her_ handle the situation. Of course the imbeciles had agreed, probably grateful to avoid the paperwork that would come of having to deal with the situation themselves, leading Emma to have to book an immediate flight home for the three of them. 

They had not even had to speak to know that neither wanted Henry in the custody of either Neal Cassidy or his father, _Rumplestiltskin_. 

A small, private charter plane had been the immediate solution and the three had boarded within the hour. 

“You can’t just ignore me, Regina.” The perpetually annoying woman whined from across the small aisle. “Come on.”

Apparently she could ignore Emma, especially if she took cues from their reluctant son who sat next to the window on the other side of Emma. 

Of course, this _did_ leave the woman with nobody and no one to talk with, having given up trying to engage the brooding child next to her, she’d set her eyes on Regina, all of a foot and a half of an aisle away. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Regina raised her right eyebrow. 

“This?” An off-hand, sweeping gesture in the air around her upped her annoying quota for the day. “You mean babysitting you half way around the States? Yeah.”

Emma rolled her neck to the side, dragging out the motion until her head lolled awkwardly and she faced her full on. The sarcasm practically oozed out of her eye sockets. 

“Yeah, this is the life.” Her legs stretched out in front of her as far as the cramped space would allow and she manoeuvred her hands behind her head as she looked forward. “The life, I tell you.”

Of course, knowing their luck, and Regina’s absolute abhorrence of all things outside of her town, her small life, her _control_ , that was the exact moment that one of the non-descript men amongst the ten other passengers she had not bothered paying attention to stood up and began yelling very loudly. 

She could not quite understand the words being shouted, but was very fluent in the looks of fear given by the pilot, the co-pilot and those in close proximity to the man. Also, the gun. She had never really dealt in guns, but she wasn’t ignorant of their potency. 

And the danger they evoked this high up in a plane that contained none other than her son.

“Henry!” She hissed, reaching across the aisle in a futile gesture. Her arm barely reached Ms Swan, let alone past her to the boy. “You’ll be okay.”

She just wished she believed that. 

Her eyes took in the grip Emma suddenly had on Henry’s small hand, fingers twining with his and holding on. If it couldn’t be her, she was grateful he had somebody as the gunman turned on the passengers and ordered them all to remain quiet.

The engines roared underneath her, around and above, closing the walls in with a rumble as the plane changed course. Something told her they would not be landing in Maine any time soon. 

Her fingers tightened on the seat arms and her jaw gritted shut for the next few hours. She was fairly certain, however, that she’d managed to maintain a fairly outward show of calm. It would not to do let Emma, of all people, see how much this was getting to her. It would be like blooding the water of a shark-infested ocean. 

When Emma’s eyes flicked down to her whitened knuckles and then back up to her tight face, she saw the crease of awareness in the corner of her eyes and resented her all the more for it. 

She had ruled kingdoms, she would not be bought down low by an airplane ride gone wrong. 

Her fingers twitched against the armrest as she tried to summon all the energies around her. It was her luck, of course, that there was no magic outside of Storybrooke. She could control not one iota of what happened now. 

It was right there, on the tip of Emma’s tongue, Regina could see it, the insane and absurd reflex to ask her if she was alright and she swore to herself that if she actually did ask, Regina would unbuckle her belt, reach across and punch her square in the face for it. Gunman be damned.

She didn’t, luckily, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d smelled weakness. 

The plane lurched forward and she gasped, unable to hold it in anymore, her entire body flinching. 

_It’s okay, folks._ The pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom. _Just a little set back, that’s all. Don’t panic and we’ll all make it through this. Keep your seats buckled._

Regina couldn’t keep the disbelieving, nervous chuckle from escaping. The roll of Emma’s eyes belied her agreement. 

Outside the window, or at least the small little patch of glass that passed as a window, the clouds grew thick and grey and she didn’t actually remember the forecast being this bad. Her stomach rolled with the plane’s inability to keep straight. 

“Of all the times,” Emma hissed under her breath, watching Regina with sharp eyes. “For your magic to go flaccid.”

They both glanced to the front of the plane to see if they’d been overheard.

It was obvious what Emma was trying to do; blind Freddy could have seen it. She was trying to keep Regina’s mind off the gunman and the pilot’s spectacular inability to fly the coffin of metal and steel they’d so cavalierly called a plane. And, to Regina’s surprise, it was nearly working. 

“Why don’t you call on your ex’s father?” She hissed as she closed her eyes to ignore the now flickering lights. “You two seemed chummy enough.”

_Nothing to worry about. It’s all under control. Just a bit of turbulence._

Yes, Regina thought, because turbulence was certainly the main issue right now. 

“Hey.” Emma protested and she could hear the affront under all the sounds of winds and shrieking metal and the growing rabble of fear in a small group. “There is absolutely nothing going on between… that man… and me.”

She snorted, completely forgetting for a second that she was going to ram that gun down the man’s throat and then kill the pilot when they finally landed. With his own jaunty little airport tie. Cheerily. 

“I would rather…”

But Emma never got to finish the sentence as a loud wooshing swept through the cabin and Regina opened her eyes again, to be confronted by the sight of a limply swinging air mask in front of her face. 

“Shit.” Emma finished. 

Which pretty much covered it, she thought. 

There wasn’t a lot of time to think anything else, certainly no time to say anything as a loud cracking coupled with the shriek of tearing metal silenced everyone in the cabin. Bright blue light blinded Regina for a second and she realized that there was a hole in the plane at the same time that she felt the lurch. 

Her seat went flying backwards at the same time she watched Henry and Emma being torn forwards and then there wasn’t time for anything else after that. 

She’d like to think that in her last few minutes, probably seconds of life, Regina had been one of the poetic, idealized people whose life flashed before them, the secrets of the Universe, all the answers she ever needed, all the people she cared about and that cared about her, all the people she’d cursed and who had cursed her. She’d like to say she’d thought of her father and Henry.

But, in all honesty, there was very little thought, just a jumble of broken images, twisted metal, a screaming face, grey-black storm clouds, a bag, water, and a constant heavy scream of _Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, ohfuckohfuckohfuuuuuuuuuck_ going through her head. 

The splash hit with all the force of a Mack truck, a solid wall hitting her from underneath and when she opened her mouth to scream, thick salty water flooded in, took her breath, stung her lips and tongue and tonsils, bruised her mouth and nostril cavities. 

Her arms flailed and her eyes fought the sting of air bubbles and sand granules as her lungs began to burn, fighting for breath. Regina saw blood, threading through the streaming water like food dye added to a child’s cup of water. Red and thin and curling like smoke in front of her face. 

She thought, for a second, her foot hit something solid, the sea bed, earth, and she tried to push off, push up, anything, but her body screamed in pain and she buckled further downwards. Her chair flipped and she was propelled face down into a thick sludge of a sand bed. It coated her eyes and cheeks and nose and mouth, forced its way down her throat. She couldn’t breathe. 

She couldn’t breathe. 

She couldn’t…

Her lungs burst in a white-hot explosion, oxygen flooding her system and making her dizzy as she gasped out loud, choking on a mouthful of water and gunk. She half flopped- was half propelled onto her side as great waves of coughing shook her. 

The first thing she became aware of was that her limbs and body were free; she was stretched out over wet, clumpy sand, hair straggling in her face. The second thing that hit her consciousness was the voice urging her to breathe, the voice attached to hands holding her upright.

“Mom!” It was the best sound she had ever heard. “Mom!”

She choked around a sob and her hands clenched automatically, grabbed fistfuls of sand. 

“Jesus Christ.” Another voice made itself clearer, sharper, and her ears popped with the introduction of recognizable sound. “You’re alive.”

Air scraped its way in through her throat, catching on jagged edges. 

“Unfortunately for you, dear.” But she was too weak to really nail the blasé attitude right then, her body shook and limbs were weighted down in thick molasses, her eyes struggled to make sense of what she was seeing. She reached out a hand blindly searching until she closed fingers over a small wrist and latched on, pulling Henry closer. “Are you okay?”

For the first time in a long time, he did not squirm away from her and let himself be touched. 

“I’m good. We were thrown from plane and Emma swam us to shore.”

She allowed herself to breathe easier. 

“Fuck Regina.” Emma Swan’s voice shook, actually shook as she knelt back, gave them some space. “I think they’re all dead.”

Her chest spasmed and she coughed against it, bit down to hold it in before looking around. 

They were on a beach, seemingly peaceful and tranquil, wide stretch of clean sand and calm blue water rippling and white washing froth at the edges. Lush, tropical vegetation along the perimeter promised a fertile jungle further inland. Pristine, except for the range of flotsam and jetsam that littered the water and sand, various baggage and clothes and metal and materials from the plane. 

She saw a hunk of twisted metal sticking up from the water a hundred yards or so from the shoreline. If she squinted, it almost looked like the front half of the plane. It made her shudder again. 

They’d been sitting somewhere towards the back. The back that was nowhere in sight. 

The sense memory of falling and screaming had her body flattening out against land, instinctively holding on. 

“I didn’t even know if you were alive.” Emma continued to ramble against the blankness of her non-response. “I saw you under… and I…”

Her words died off and Regina followed her gaze further along the beach, to a crumpled shape that slowly took form until she managed to see the body lying there. Next to her, the wreckage of her seat lay on its side, forgotten, the straps flung open wide and she imagined a wet, bedraggled Emma hauling her out here and freeing her twisted limbs, preparing herself for CPR. 

“She saved you, Mom.” Henry’s voice came again, welcome and soothing and the only reason she could even breathe any more. Regina did not even have it in her to resent the awe in his voice. “Like a real hero.”

“Where are we?”

Contrary to the jumble of her thought process, her brain seemed to be in a highly functioning order. Emma stood up and looked to the sky, shading her eyes and squinting against the glare. 

“We were in the air for a good four hours, maybe more.” She could see her scan the horizon, calculating the distance and times and position of the sun. “So, my best guess is, we’re somewhere between New York and Royally Fucking Screwed. Are you paying attention?”

She could not even manage a retort. 

“Our plane just crashed. On a deserted fucking island and do you know how I know it’s deserted? Because it took me ten minutes to drag your sorry ass to the beach and empty your stomach of all that crap and not one person has come to see what the hell is up with the big fiery crash! Not one! Do you see any electrical wires or sources or a resort? A hotel building in the skyline? Because I don’t.”

Once she’d said the words, Regina took a second look around her. She was right. There was no response to an obvious crash, not even a casual onlooker. The beach was spotless except for their footprints and the rubbish the crash had dumped there. There was absolutely no sign of life whatsoever. 

“We could be anywhere from the North Atlantic Ocean to the Caribbean. Look.” Emma brushed over the outburst with a shake of her head. “Are you okay?”

The solicitation in her voice grated down her spine and she bristled, pushing herself up on her elbows. 

“I’m just fine, thank you.”

The look on her face was pure exasperation and then she nodded. 

“Good, ‘cause I don’t know how much light we have left. I figure we should gather some supplies from the wreckage, bottled water with any luck, and then start hiking down the beach until we find people. I don’t want to be out here in the dark.”

It was utterly stunning, the logic behind Emma’s words. She had never, not once, known this woman to have one reasonable thought in her head, let alone anything sensible and possibly life-saving. Asinine, moronic, fourth grade level, sure. That she’d believe. 

Her clothes stuck to her, dragging her limbs down, wet and soggy and clinging as she brushed the clumping sand from her face and hair and neck. There was an odd sinking feeling growing in the pit of her stomach and she refused to acknowledge it. 

“Sounds wonderful. Now that I’ve caught my breath I’ll just…”

There was something tugging in the back of her mind, a fleeting fraction of a second of memory, the water closing in and panic and the flash of pain splintering up her shin when she’d tried to plant her feet on the bottom of the ocean. 

Until then, she’d been resolutely avoiding any movement of her lower limbs, preferring to remain grateful to be alive and not actually aware of the injury her brain refused to ignore completely. 

Emma watched her, eyes wide and waiting, seeming to count down the seconds on an invisible clock behind her lids. 

She gritted her teeth and sat up straighter, looked down at her sodden legs and made a silent deal with them that if they got up and worked and carried her, not showing any weakness in front of Emma, she would have regular spa pedicures.

It was not to be. 

Her right ankle protested before she could even fully adjust her weight, let alone begin to stand, and she cried out as she dropped back down to the sand. 

“Brilliant.” It came bitten and rasped and raw out of her throat as her hand slapped the wet sand in protest. “Just brilliant.”

She saw irritation spark behind Emma’s eyes and the feeling of wanting to slap her came back. She was getting used to it; maybe it was a permanent state of being around the woman. It didn’t disappear when she squatted down next to Regina, arms on her elbows, and spoke softer. 

“How bad?”

She didn’t look up, preferred instead to look down at the sand. 

“I can’t walk.” Her right hand fisted and released. “I think it’s broken.”

“Fuck.” Emma agreed, lifting her left hand to cradle her forehead for a minute, before inhaling sharply and letting it out in a slow release. “Okay, we need a new plan, but before that…”

When Emma reached for her leg, Regina drew back; flinching hard at the sudden jerk it caused her. 

A low whistle escaped Emma’s lips and she tried to hide the irritation this time, but Regina still saw it. 

“You know I’m a sheriff, right? I do have _some_ First Aid training. Let me look at it.”

Leaning back, hands planted firmly in the sand behind her, she bit her lip. 

“Yes, but knowing you, your training included sticking pins into little wooden dolls shaped like me.”

“Look.” Emma glared. “You want my help or not? Because Henry and I could just as easily be starting our trek and go get ourselves rescued, if you’re so comfy here.”

Regina’s lower teeth trapped her top lip and she glared right back for several seconds. 

“Henry.” Emma sighed. “Why don’t you go looking in the trees just over there for a straight stick thick enough to use as a splint. Don’t leave my sight, okay?”

She watched Henry nod, his eyes wide and large. There was worry and the dregs of panic inside them, but the stubborn set of his mother not to appear weak. Her brave son. He ploughed through the sand up towards the tree line and Regina’s critical eye made sure he was as uninjured as he claimed.

The truth, as much as she hated to admit it, was that Emma was right. Given that anybody had yet to investigate why a hunk of burning aircraft had fallen into the ocean and she was unable to do something as simple as walk, her only choice was to rely on one Emma Swan. 

And it stung. 

“Fine.”

She didn’t say anything else and Emma set her jaw as she tried again, reaching out gently as if Regina were a wild animal in a trap. 

“Don’t think I didn’t think about it.” She said softly and Regina quirked her head. “The voodoo dolls.”

She nodded her head at the explanation and realized she was trying to distract her from the feeling of hands rolling up her sodden jeans leg and prying off her shoe. It didn’t work, specifically because the second fingers touched her skin, it hurt. 

It hurt a lot. 

“Oh my god.” She gasped, body twitching in an effort not to pull the limb as far away from him as possible. “Are you trying to make it worse? Who taught you First Aid? Joseph Mengele?”

Soft fingers and palms wrapped around her shin and palpated it softly, inquisitively, and she squeezed her eyes shut, pushing her chin down into her chest, trying to control the amount of pain she showed. Not that it mattered. 

“I don’t think it’s broken.” Emma let her leg go and twisted her neck, looking around them. “But I don’t think you’ll be walking anywhere anytime soon. Wait here.”

“Yes.” She groused to herself as Emma stood up and walked away, brushing the sand off her knees as she went. “Because I have so many appealing options…”

Her words trailed off, mainly because it wasn’t as much fun as it sounded to bitch about things when no one was listening, because she’d just caught sight of the shiny red swollen skin of her ankle, the red raw slash of broken skin, but also because she’d just realized where Emma was headed. 

She watched in morbid fascination as Emma neared her destination, hesitated, scanned the beach again, and then knelt down next to the body. Regina managed to look away before she had to watch much more than that. Her eyes went straight to her mangled leg and she reached out slowly to touch it. 

Traitorous, traitorous mangled leg. She was going to wax it with sandpaper from now on. 

Minutes later Emma returned, a shadow falling over her feet and she squinted up at the silhouette with something like distaste curling her tongue. 

“You don’t seriously think I’m going to let you put that on my leg?”

Emma knelt down again and she grimaced as the woman used the corner of her teeth to begin tearing strips off the cloth. Her throat closed up, making her voice come out more of a whine than she wanted. 

“Surely there’s something else…?”

Emma glared, rending the material in a particularly vicious motion. 

“Unless you want to use your own clothes…” She paused for a second to rake her eyes up and down Regina’s body with a speculative expression, but then continued. “Or want me to take off mine, this is the best you’ve got. So shut up and thank the dead man.”

Regina bit her lip and tried not to imagine sporking Emma to death with one of those little plastic airplane utensils. She tried very hard as Henry trotted back down to them, brandishing a small sturdy stick with pride. 

“It’s not…” She rolled her eyes, a completely flimsy and obvious attempt to detract from the discomfort. “You know… it doesn’t have… blood?”

A sadistic little chuckle was suffocated somewhere inside Emma’s throat and she flashed Regina a look of amusement before leaning forward and grasping her ankle solidly, placing it firmly between her knees on the sand and setting the stick up the side of her shin. 

“Oh, completely.” She nodded, deft fingers wrapping the cloth around her leg and the stick. “Sodden in the stuff, you think I should rinse it out first?”

Her knee jerked, but Emma had too good a hold for her to pull away and fingers tightened for just a second. She felt like a five year old squeamish about a skinned knee. 

“Give me some credit.” But the hardness in Emma’s voice vanished again and she spoke softer. “He wasn’t… he’s not… I think he just drowned. There was no blood.”

Just drowned. Like that was any better. But Regina almost understood what she was trying to say and it really bothered her. That woman had no business being anywhere near at all perceptive in what she needed. It felt like a betrayal, really. 

Eventually, her leg was splintered and she found herself looking down at a tightly bound flannel bandage, lumpy and angled with the stick she’d set it with. It had even stopped screaming, though it still echoed with a dull throb that she suspected wasn’t going to go away without quality pharmaceuticals. The competency was strange. 

“Thank you.”

Emma cocked her head. 

“Wow, Madam Mayor, did that hurt?” And when she glared up at Emma, she shook her head. “Look, crash or not, you’re injured which makes you and Henry my responsibility and I’ll be damned if let the entire town think I let you die on my watch after I spent so much time trying to save your ass. Okay?”

They were well and truly dysfunctional when considering that as Emma’s only motive made her feel so much more relieved than entertaining any other thought. 

***

The less they talked, the more productive they seemed to be. 

Henry spent a his time disappearing into the vegetation ringing the beach before emerging looking somewhat triumphant with a large branch that turned out to be more than satisfactory as a temporary crutch. She could walk awkwardly, stiltedly, but not for any real distance. After that, he busied himself playing fetch. Running around the beach and bringing all the items he could find back to Regina. 

Emma began the slightly more daunting task of swimming out to gather floating bits of junk. She had taken off her jacket and scarf immediately and now had taken off her jeans, swimming only in an undershirt and underwear. Regina imagined her as a pesky neighborhood mongrel that spent most of its time snapping at the local kids, only to turn loyal to the first of them that petted his head. 

As for her part, Regina spent her time dividing all the objects into two piles. Firstly, the pile of useless items and, secondly, the pile of things that might come in handy. After what had to be several hours, even if her sodden watch told her they’d been stuck on the beach at 11:47 for the entire time they’d been there, the piles were vaguely out of proportion. 

When Emma deposited the first of the suitcases at her feet, she looked up at the dripping form and noted the exhaustion riding the woman’s features. The sun was doing her no favors as she saw the bright red hue to her skin. By the tightness and tingling in her own shoulders, she knew she had to be faring much the same.

“I found the tail.” Emma gasped and pointed at a distance to the left of the nose sticking out of the water. “Near where you… all the luggage is there.”

She didn’t want to imagine Emma diving among the wreckage, bypassing what must be the strapped in body of other passengers, digging around the metal for whatever scraps she could pry loose. She didn’t want to think about what the bodies looked like, trapped in the seat still in the aircraft, much as she would have been if her chair hadn’t broken away. 

“There are still a few bags and boxes…” Emma kept talking, whistling away like she was discussing the weather, a football game, what to order for dinner. “It’ll take me a while to get everything. Is there anything we can use…?”

But Regina didn’t answer, looking out into the horizon. The empty, bright, sun hazed horizon rippling at the edge of the seemingly calm ocean. 

She had never felt smaller in her life. 

“No one’s coming, are they?”

Emma dropped down into the sand so she could look into Regina’s face better and she wrapped her arms around her good knee and turned her head to avoid her. They both looked across the beach into the distance where an oblivious Henry was dragging a bag towards them. 

“Sure they are. Rescues in International waters don’t happen instantly, you know. Not even for you. You have to give them time. Besides, we’re too important to leave alone too long.”

The new and strange feeling of being comforted by Emma Swan was not one she liked. 

“You honestly don’t think it’s better for Rumplestiltskin with the three of us out of the picture? I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d organised the entire thing to begin with.”

Emma narrowed her eyes and shrugged. 

“I think perhaps the suitcases full of cocaine I left in the back of the plane might have had more to do with the hijacking, but you think what you need to.”

Regina refused to respond, setting her jaw and watching Henry draw nearer. Eventually Emma sighed and stood up, brushing wet clumps of sand off her knees. Regina drew her toes in closer to her body to avoid them. 

As Emma swam back out to the plane, Regina’s eyes drew back to the frame getting smaller and smaller in the distance. She hadn't known Emma was a good swimmer, but she seemed to be holding her own against the tide. It shouldn't have surprised her. Nothing about Emma Swan should surprise her anymore. 

Regina sighed and looked up at the sun, it occurred to her that it had moved significantly since they'd first arrived on the beach and she knew what that meant. She looked back down to the two haphazard piles she'd made. A large, discarded pile of things she'd dismissed entirely and a smaller one of bottled water, food, first aid supplies. 

They needed to be reorganized. 

With Henry’s help, the two became three. One of completely useless items, one of immediately useful items and the third of items that may prove useful if they were stuck for any particular length of time. She hoped desperately that it wouldn't come to that. They also set about laying clothes on the beach, stretching the sodden materials out flat to dry in the sun, guessing at which were approximate sizes. 

Her clothes had dried sticky, stiff and rasping against her skin. The material of her pants was crinkling and agitating her aching shin. The leg had muddy brown patches of her blood dried into it and she feared that they would have to cut the pair off her legs to get it over the splint. 

Emma had shucked most of her clothes already, but Regina suspected she wouldn't finish diving until well into the evening, when it would be too late for her clothes to dry in the sun. 

***

“What about…?”

“No.”

“But…”

Regina broke the intense concentration she was pouring into opening her little packet of dry crackers with cheese, sliding her thumb nail under the plastic corner and then prying the whole thing open. She set her jaw and gave Emma a look, glad Henry had fallen into an exhausted sleep easily and early. 

“I said no.”

Emma chuckled and scrunched her back to the left. Regina heard a distinct crack across the inky blue air that had fallen some time ago and winced. She’d put in a lot of effort to gather anything at all useful from the wreckage, nearly wiping herself out until Regina had ordered her to sit and drink some of the bottled water. 

It had occurred to both of them at the same time, as they’d looked up at the last little sliver of sun disappearing over the horizon, that it had been about to get dark, very dark, very damn soon. A quick trip to the lush forest nearby provided a wealth of dry firewood. 

They’d both proven reasonable fire starters, capable of clearing an area and setting the proper structures, although she didn’t particularly want to think what would have happened if there hadn’t been matches in the plane emergency kit. Common sense was one thing, creating fire from two dry sticks was something she suspected was way out of their league. 

Fire lit, they’d toasted themselves with water and little cans of soda, created a veritable feast of packaged peanuts, crackers, and sandwiches. 

She really wished they’d been on a large commercial jet, one with hot food and alcohol. 

And probably more survivors. 

“C’mon Madam Mayor.” Even Emma’s voice was cracked and roasted in the sun, exhausted and sluggish from pushing too far on too little fuel and wasted adrenaline. “You’re telling me that after all I’ve seen, all those story book characters actually coming to life, that there is _no_ chance that Superman or Batman is real?”

Regina sighed and fussed a piece of cheese on a cracker. 

“You’re confusing fiction with reality.”

It really wasn’t even all that appetizing, over processed cheese that had sweated way past the appealing stage many hours before, but common sense, that damnable thing that kept pointing out the obvious to her dismay, told her that she needed everything and anything she could get her hands on in the way of sustenance. 

And the cheese would definitely not keep. 

The thought of having to ration out the remaining supplies scared her. There was barely enough to make a meal now, let alone stretch it out. They’d kept several packets aside, the non-perishable items. She glanced over at the jungle again, squinted and tried to make out the shapes of the trees. 

Maybe some of them were fruit trees. Not that she’d know. For all of her botanical knowledge, they could be magical sherbet trees. 

“Can you fish?”

Emma looked at her, the fingers of her right hand fidgeting at the ring pull of a mini soda can. 

“In a designated fishing area with a rod and lure and bait, yes. Maybe” The ring snapped off. “With my bare hands? I doubt it.”

She watched idly as Emma flicked the ring tab a few feet away, to the little designated pile of rubbish they’d set up. At least she had the courtesy to do that. 

“And unless you’re willing to gut a fish by yourself, I figure we’ll stick to the land.” Emma took a long swallow of soda. “Shouldn’t be too long before they find us, anyway, ‘specially with the fire going.”

Never having grown in this land, Regina had never been camping or anything vaguely outdoors related. She hadn’t had the pleasure of a camp fire or sticky marshmallows melting on twigs, nor anything media had told her was a staple of growing up. She suspected, given her mother, that even had she grown here she would never have spent much time in the wild. 

But she had her experience with fire, whether for casting or giant fires in the great fireplaces of castles and estate homes and she had always savored the feeling of crackling flame warming her skin, the slightly ethereal feeling it gave as the orange glowed on everyone’s faces.

But just then, feet curling into the slightly dampening sand, arms circling her one bent leg, staring across the fire at Emma Swan’s pinched and nervous face pretending to be strong, Regina felt chills. 

A high pitched howl echoed across the night. 

“What was…?”

She couldn’t stop herself from twisting, turning around to peer into the trees. 

“A bird.” Emma ’s voice came too quickly, too forcefully. “Nothing but a bird.”

But she was not quick enough to stop Regina seeing her fingers twitch over the space her holster would be if she were wearing it when she turned around. The sight did not make Regina breathe any easier. 

“That was no bird.”

Emma sighed, bone weary and tired. 

“Go to sleep, Regina.”

Easier said than done. 

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And of course, of _course_ , Emma would pile more work on herself, because as well as being an overbearing, know it all saviour, she was a self-sacrificing martyr as well. Regina could not turn around on this island without being bombarded by the all mighty Emma in her short shorts with her endless energy and optimism and glistening skin and muscled abs… 
> 
> And oh dear lord, she must have some form of heat stroke surely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** : Hey. Who remembers this? I bet you thought I didn't. ;) Well, it's back. A little. I guess. This is surely the most slow-burn I have ever written, but there you go. 
> 
> **A/N:** Yeah, I'm not a botanist, nor a survivalist. I believe what the internet tells me. If I get a detail wrong about what is/isn't available in mysterious deserted tropical islands in an undisclosed location somewhere near the Americas... (in a fic based on a show about fairytale characters)... we can all suspend disbelief, can't we? Yes? Yes. Good.

***

The throbbing in her leg woke her up. 

It was still early, she could see the sun half way up in the sky, bright and glaring, with the promise of another day of heat. It was too early in the morning for her to wake up had she been at home comfortable in her bed, way too late to be awake given their circumstance. 

Her watch still said 11:47. She finally gave up and unclipped it from her wrist. 

Turning her head, she saw the rumpled emergency blankets that had made Emma and Henry’s beds the night before, all three of them crowded around the dwindling fire. It was a second of panic when she saw them gone, nothing but the slightly indented shapes of bodies pressed into the sand beneath. 

Common sense won, however, when she noted the efforts of people already awake. They’d changed clothes, evidenced by the discarded piles, had found a bag of toiletries with soap and a brush, and various leftover packaged foodstuffs had been gathered.

And footprints led off somewhere towards the trees and up the beach. 

She shifted on the blanket and regretted it, body knocking against hard pressed sand, a crick forming in her neck. Her skin itched with salt and sand granules trapped in day old, sea dry clothes. One of the bags Emma had brought back to camp had been her own, so Regina was left with some choice, if undesirable, as opposed to the misshapen strangers’ castoffs and cutdowns Henry was left with. 

His own bag had not been recovered and Regina had not bought a bag of clothes at all, not prepared to stay more than the short trips allowed, let alone overnight in New York.

Her eyes wandered back to the trees, the line of unknown, and her brain told her that the lushness of the vegetation pretty much assured some source of fresh water, but the ache in her leg told her she didn’t have a lot of walking time and even less time to traipse around unknown landscapes looking for natural springs. 

For now, she could make do dipping into the ocean, washing the layer of sleep away. 

The next problem seemed to be her pants. 

They were salvageable, the right leg of her trousers was split twice up the leg and she’d have to cut them to get the rest past the make-shift splint anyway. A splint, she was pleasantly surprised to note, that was still in place and firm. 

They were her favourite pants, too, dammit it all to hell. 

But there was no room for preening on an abandoned island, she figured, as she picked up the blade Emma had left her with. A crude sheet of sharp metal she’d fashioned from a piece of the plane, one edge bent over and hammered down to give a near safe handle. Again with the competency, she noted in surprise. 

It gleamed in the sun, slightly dangerous, and she figured she’d be lucky not to slice off a thumb before her pants. 

She half limped, half hobbled to an edge of the ocean away from debris and bodies, closer to an outcropping of rock and began sawing at the material, careful with the blade near her skin. It took several long minutes, more than she would admit, before she made any progress, was close enough to drop the blade and just tear them free. 

The bandage was another matter altogether. Her leg didn’t hurt anymore, so much as a vague throb now and again to remind her it was there. Unless she took weight on it, that was a different story. It took her several minutes to decide to just remove it, she could do it slowly and if she saw any signs she was making a mistake she would just wrap it back up again. 

The skin underneath was wrinkled and pasty, having been sweltering under a damp bandage all night. The bleeding had stopped, but the wound itself still looked raw and ugly. And swollen. 

A furtive glance back to camp assured her that neither Henry nor Emma had returned. Either they’d gotten lost or they were giving her some privacy. Her brain automatically put the odds in favour of the first option for Emma, but recent proof to contrary made her admit that maybe, just possibly, there was a chance it was the second. She trusted Henry to have some common sense at least. 

Necessity was one thing, stripping down completely on a beach where Emma or even some as yet to be found, but still possible locals could show up and watch was something else altogether, and Regina left her underwear on as she hobbled into the surf. 

The water was clean and cool and welcome and she bent the knee of her good leg to duck her shoulders under, leaning her head back to swirl her hair. She would deal with the inevitable salt crusting later. 

It felt too good to stop and Regina lifted her head to look, really look, at the small pool she had entered. Small waves lapped at her skin and she looked down to pure blue water. She could see her feet all the way to the bottom and the colours that swished and shimmered enough to suggest life teeming underneath.

Blue stretched out endlessly before her and she could see no hint of another island or any boats remotely close to them. It joined seamlessly, the expanse of blue ocean to another endless stretch of blue sky. 

Nothing in her life dwarfed her the way this did. 

She knew, had known the minute the plane had been taken over by a man with a gun that her magic was non-existent outside of Storybrooke, but she was unable to stop herself trying. Unable to stop herself as she spread her hand out parallel to the water lapping at her shoulders, her fingers splayed, and tried to summon the energies around her. 

Nothing. 

There was absolutely nothing she could do here on this island. 

Except limp. 

“Still no luck?”

Of course. Of course that would be when Emma Swan would find her. Regina turned to face the beach, the jungle, the woman leaning against a large rock. Her eyes scanned the stretch of sand behind Emma. 

“Where’s Henry?”

“Oh, he’s fine.” Emma shrugged with a jerk of her shoulder to the left. “We went trekking a bit to the North and found a much better camp site without bodies. I’ve left him there sorting large stones and rocks into a usable firepit.”

For a second, Regina’s heart cramped at the image of her young son, too young, thrust violently into this world of death and danger and survival. 

“Is that really wise?” She covered. “Leaving him alone?”

Doubt flushed quickly, but noticeably, over Emma’s face. 

The woman who had done nothing but push herself to physical exhaustion to ensure their survival, who had done far more than Regina thought herself capable of. This woman had obvious weaknesses and it was far too easy for Regina to find them. 

Her entire adult life had trained her to do it without thinking. 

“I… uh… I… Jesus, Regina.” Emma deflated, her body sinking from surety to quivering in a release of breath. “He was so scared. I didn’t know what to do. I mean, we couldn’t talk all those hours that guy had the gun, but Henry would flinch, he’d just flinch every time the gun pointed toward us.”

It was no time to interrupt, years of surviving royal court in a nest of snakes had taught her more about reading people than she could ever forget, and at that moment Regina knew Emma needed the outlet, the vent. 

“And then when the plane broke apart and we were falling, I can’t…” Emma’s words caught in her throat. “I found him first, I had to, and all he could do was scream for you. He thought you were dead, we both did.”

Regina could see it. Emma, scrabbling out of her own seat and swimming over to Henry, getting him out of his. Having to try to calm him down and not knowing if she could give him the one thing he’d been calling for, maybe both of them looking at the bobbing, churning waves of destruction and wondering where Regina had sunk down. 

“I figured I’d keep him busy.” Emma pleaded from somewhere back in her mind. “I don’t know what to tell him.”

Regina had the power to crush, right there, being handed to her on a platter. She sighed. 

“That’s probably a good idea. He won’t be able to dwell on it if we keep him distracted until rescue comes. You’ve done remarkably well with him.”

She had to turn away from the relief that flooded Emma’s face. 

Regina wondered if there had been others, other people that had survived the crash as she had, that were aware of the sinking, the water that invaded their bodies. Wondered if Emma had to make a deliberate choice to leave them and dive for a woman most likely dead. 

The memory of drowning came back to her, the choking panic as her body was helpless to the whims of the seat she’d been strapped to. 

Her eyes scanned the distant wreckage, poking absurdly out of the water. 

“How did you know?” Was the question that came to her. “How did you know where to look?”

This time when she turned, Emma had taken a step back, her hand trembling as she tried to cover by trailing it across the top of the rock. 

“Uh… lucky, I guess?” It was a poor answer and they both knew it. Emma did not meet her eyes as she continued. “Look, I’ve been in a few situations in my life where it pays to keep track of certain people if you want to get out of it, no matter what is going on. I didn’t know I’d been doing it, but as we went down I knew where Henry was, I knew the area you were. That’s it.”

Ah yes. Emma Swan’s colourful, broken history. 

Regina refused to allow herself a moment of guilt. If Emma had a problem with the life she’d been given, she should take it up with the people who shoved her in a tree. 

The longer they stayed there, not meeting each other’s eyes, the more absurd Regina felt as the water ebbed around her shoulders. 

“Yes, well.” She honestly did miss the days when her voice would carry her power, instead of coming out shaky. “Thank you. I am grateful.”

A small, surprised bark of laughter escaped from Emma’s throat and Regina scowled as she began to step out of the small pool, instantly feeling her skin shrink in the heat of the sun. 

“Oh my god, Regina.” Emma gasped through her chuckles. “Did that hurt? I swear, your face looked like you’d rather be walking on hot coa… geeeeeeez.”

The breathy exhalation caught Regina by surprise and she followed Emma’s eyes all the way to her legs, the water streaming off them. The salt water had stung initially, but had then served to numb her to the pain of stripping the fragile scabbing from the wound. 

“Ah, yes.” She lifted her head. “I know I shouldn’t have taken off the splint, but I desperately needed to bathe. Perhaps you could help me put it back on?”

For the third time in five minutes, Emma Swan refused to meet her eyes. 

“Yes.” Emma stammered as she spun around on the spot to retrieve whatever items she’d bought down the beach. “That’s what I meant.”

***

Clothes. 

That was what Emma had bought. At least, some approximation of clothes that Regina would rather have burned in the firepit than put on her body. They were, of course, in a situation that precluded choosiness. She either had to put up with what she was offered or… well, there really was no ‘or’. 

Not surprising in the least, the pair of men’s khakis Emma had given her were loose and unflattering and the infuriating woman had committed the further sacrilege of sawing away three quarters of the legs. A fashion obscenity that mirrored Emma’s own attire of sawn off jean shorts. 

“Surely.” She asked, holding the waist of the make shift shorts away from her skin. “Destroying your entire wardrobe for a day is a tad extreme?”

“A day?” Emma scoffed as she looked out across the ocean. “Regina, face facts. There’s nobody here. Nobody has come yet. If they’re looking for our plane, odds are they’re looking North, somewhere closer to the Canadian border and icebergs than here.”

Regina ducked her head and looked down to the sand between her feet. 

"Yes. Well."

It did not mean she had to be pleased with the black tank she had been given. Granted, it gave her some relief from the incessant heat, but that did not change the fact that she looked like some low market, forgotten... bailbondsperson. 

"Where is here?" Emma shaded her eyes to look off into the distance. "It's definitely somewhere South."

Regina frowned. 

"Your guess is as good as mine. We might well have hit the Bermuda Triangle, for all I know."

With a quirk of her neck, Emma rolled her eyes to the side to look at Regina, half a smile on her face. 

"Oh, come on, you don't honestly...?" The words dried up and Regina watched Emma sigh in fatigue. “Right yes. Of course. Why not? Hey, if we’re lucky, maybe the aliens will come find us? Seen any good UFOs lately?”

Her voice edged on hysteria and Regina had no idea how to bring her down from it. 

Luckily, she didn’t have to. They’d trudged just far enough on the sand, Emma leaving crisp, clear footprints and Regina leaving a smudged trail of stick and dragged limb, that they had crossed over a rise and she saw Henry planting an oversized stick in the ground next to a rather organised pile of stones. 

It wobbled when he let go and then it fell over with a thump audible from where they were when Henry abandoned it altogether to run towards them. He had never looked younger, a skinny boy in an oversized man’s tee shirt and a shorts cinched in wildly so they would stay up his waist. His skin was turning a bright red all Regina wanted to do was gather him up, smother him in sunscreen, and shelter him from anything and everything this world had to throw. 

“Look Mom!” His voice trembled in his enthusiasm. “We made a proper campsite. It’s higher up from the ocean and the ground is more stable up here.”

“Still got a bit of work to do.” Emma huffed a little, good naturedly, but Regina could see the weariness in her eyes and posture, the fatigue. “Just let me sit down for a minute, okay?”  
She cursed her leg once more, she knew that she was pretty much useless in the group and hated it with a passion. Not that she had a lot of experience with camp site building or shelter construction, but she would be another set of hands that could take the workload off Emma. 

Instead, she handed the woman a bottle of water she picked up from the pile. 

“Drink.” It came out like an order, crisp and curt and rude. “I don’t want you neglecting yourself.”

Emma raised her eyebrows, the look in her eyes part questioning part knowing. 

“Thanks.”

***

They sat under the trees in the heat of the sun, Regina’s leg ached in a low throb she could do nothing about. The heat robbed them of their energy and they sat, then slumped, then lay in the haze, staring up at the sky. 

“My lip is sweating.” Emma complained. “Even my goddamn lip is sweating.”

“Charming.” 

It came out like a drawl, but even her sarcasm was dulled and it didn’t stop her from looking Emma over, her eyes lingering over the reddened, glowing skin and the beads of perspiration that had budded up. Her top had been pushed up to the point of baring her midriff and Regina’s eyes followed the dips of muscle. 

She didn’t realise her tongue had placed itself between her teeth until Henry spoke and she bit it.

“Can we go water hunting now?”

“Water hunting?” Regina frowned. “What?”

Henry was eager and enthusiastic in a way that escaped Regina and, she suspected, Emma as well. He had always had a thirst for adventure and it was now coupled with his complete lack of awareness as to the seriousness of their situation. She was almost jealous. 

“We’re going into the jungles to find fresh water, because we can’t drink seawater!”

Emma groaned softly on the sand next to her, a muffled complaint that certainly did not, in any way, cause the corner of her lip to curl up in a smile. 

“I need to make the shelter before the sun sets.” Emma’s voice was thin and dull. “But we need fresh water, I don’t…”

“I can go into the jungle alone.” Henry insisted. 

“No!”

Both Emma and Regina had spoken as one. 

“Let me.” Regina suggested. “Surely there’s something I can do here to help with the shelter. If I can help with the preparation at all, it may save you time as you’re looking for water.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed and Regina could see her weighing the options. Regina would be no help in the jungle at all, unable to walk far distances and certainly not without a clear direction or purpose. She was pretty much useless in terms of hard labour, being unable to stand on her foot for very long. 

“Post holes.” Came the decision a moment later. “If you can just dig some decent sized post holes when I’m gone, then I can get the logs up quicker once we’re back. That would be great, Regina.”

She watched them disappear into the trees moments later, two of their scant remaining water bottles in their hands. At the very least, the jungles would provide both of them relief from the ever present sun. She could not help but worry about Emma, the woman was pushing herself too hard. There was nothing any of them could do, given the circumstances, and Regina wished she could be of more help. 

Allowing herself to be seen as weak and to have others tend to her needs was not anywhere close to her comfort zone. 

Emma had marked the spots on the earth she was to dig post holes and it was a job she could perform somewhat awkwardly sitting down, but nobody was to witness so she set herself to it as she tried not to pay attention to the omnipresent silence that blanketed the island. 

A bird cawed in the distance and she looked up to see the creature gliding on wide, white wings over the water. 

There was life on the island. Life meant survival. 

She looked out at the water once more and wondered when rescue would appear. 

***

Regina dreamt of mermaids. 

In particular, she dreamt of Emma as a mermaid, tangled blonde hair cascading over her naked shoulders as she surged out of the ocean, body streaming with water and taping down into a finned tail. 

“Oh my god, Regina!” The voice woke her with a start, stealing her breath and making her heart race. “That’s perfect!”

She blinked, dazed, and tried to find something to centre herself. 

“Ms Swan!” The rebuke came naturally. “Where are your clothes?”

Henry guffawed in the background as Emma looked down at herself with a little frown. 

“What? I’m dressed.”

Barely. She still wore the crudely cut-off jeans, but her top was nowhere in sight. Emma was all bare midriff and abdomen, red and gleaming and muscled, her bra plastered to her skin and hiding absolutely nothing to Regina’s eyes. 

“We found water.”

It came out chastened as Emma spoke to her feet. 

“Water?” Henry challenged, his enthusiasm apparently not dulled by their long trek. “We found a waterfall! A lake, Mom, and we went swimming!”

Regina closed her eyes and tried not to imagine Emma stripping down to her underthings and slicing through the water like a slick dolphin. 

The heat really was getting to her. 

Yes, the heat. 

“I got bored.” She said as she opened her eyes. “I dug the holes then I began experimenting.”

Experimenting. She had managed to get herself to the edge of the tree line and back several times, hobbling with her little stick, and salvaged more than enough foliage to begin testing weaving methods. It was crude and make shift and would probably not last, but she had found a method of stripping the lower leaves from the fronds to create a solid base enough to begin weaving them all together. 

It took another hour, with Henry offering pointers and Emma doing the heavy lifting, but the three of them managed to get a few posts stuck in the ground, leaning against each other solidly enough. It looked like a crude tepee. But, added with the leafy hatched roof Regina had made, it was a solid enough shelter that offered some respite from the sun. 

And, laying down a tarp from the wreckage, they found out later that night that it also offered tolerable shelter from the rains that poured down. 

*** 

They got dripped on overnight, of course they did, their shelter might have looked fancy but they were not seasoned veterans of Survivor. Regina was a former Queen who had servants to do her very bidding in her past life and Emma was a bounty hunter who used tax records, social media, and city cunning to find her marks. Neither of them, nor their eleven year old son, were prepared for a lengthy stay on a deserted island. 

The shelter held, however, and she supposed that was as much as she could ask for. 

She woke that morning in a muggy, steamy heat filled haze desperately aware of the two other heat producing bodies close by. Regina did not take the time to catalogue whose arm was whose before she extracted herself and edged out of the shelter into fresher air. 

Tropical islands just weren’t worth it unless there were five star resorts and a cabana boy to offer her fruity frozen cocktails with ridiculous garlands on the side of the glass. 

“I can’t take this.”

It was a whisper into the morning air, not even a breeze to disturb the absolutely annoying stillness of the trees around them or the quiet ripples of a calm ocean. 

“Yes you can.” But of course Emma heard. The woman was everywhere all at once. “We’ve done all the basics, really. So today we can take it easy. You and Henry stay close to the camp and I’ll trek back to the lake and fill all the empty bottles with drinking water.”

And of course, of _course_ , Emma would pile more work on herself, because as well as being an overbearing, know it all saviour, she was a self-sacrificing martyr as well. Regina could not turn around on this island without being bombarded by the all mighty Emma in her short shorts with her endless energy and optimism and glistening skin and muscled abs… 

And oh dear lord, she must have some form of heat stroke surely. 

Perhaps a delayed concussion from the accident. 

“Very well then.” She nodded curtly, trying to shrug off her wayward thoughts. “Make sure you don’t get lost.”

There was a split second, a fraction of Emma’s face falling slack, before the woman seemed to shake it off and then shrugged. 

“It’s an island. I’ll just walk to the beach and follow it around until I see the nearest bitch, how about that?”

Well, she supposed she almost deserved that. 

“Do what you must.”

Regina then sat down on a patch of sand as casually as she could while awkwardly adjusting her splintered leg and refused to look at Emma. 

“Oh, for the love of…” For a brief moment, Regina felt the surge of expectation that came with one of their confrontations, when Emma would get right in her face and pull her up on all her shit, then Emma sighed again, deep. “Whatever.”

And then Regina was alone again, sitting on slightly damp but quickly drying sand, looking out across the ocean that seemed to mock her with its endlessness and listening to the soft sounds of her son snoring under a leafy thatched lean to. 

***

There really was nothing to do, considering none of the people who shared their plane had been considerate enough to pack any forms of books or entertainment that didn’t short circuit the minute they hit the water. Regina hugged the knee of her one good leg to her chest as she watched the thin, sleek body of her son bob in and out of the waves. 

Her skin prickled with rivulets of sweat that gathered as beads until they trickled down, leaving paths of faux coolness that quickly heated again seconds afterwards. Her underarms chafed. Her brain was slightly dizzy. Muscles inside her stomach flexed and ground down against each other. 

And her leg ached. 

Of course it ached, a bone deep throb that pulsed in time with her heartbeat and wouldn’t go away. It felt hotter than the rest of her and she knew, without even thinking about it, perhaps not really wanting to think about it, that if she were to unwrap the cotton tying the splint to her leg that the skin underneath would be red and swollen and distended. 

They needed to get off the island. 

Henry ducked under the waves again and Regina counted silently until his head broke the surface. 

He’d started on a mission in a shallow rock pool, standing still for minutes on end until he ducked suddenly, but always coming up empty handed. It had taken him a surprising length of time, she considered, to get disheartened and accept the fact that he could not catch fish with his bare hands. 

He was an intelligent boy and it hadn’t escaped his notice that when he woke there had been scant little packets to feed him breakfast. The few bottles they had left out in the rain had been drunk easily and quickly. She didn’t know whether he had picked up on the lack of refuse from herself or Emma, but she would not be surprised. 

“Hey.” Came the ever present cheerfulness of the person she was most definitely not thinking about. “Look what I found.”

A loud thump sounded as a suitcase fell to the ground next to her. It was full, she assumed, of freshly filled water bottles as they had discussed before Emma had made her trek hours before. She certainly did not want to think about Emma lugging the weight of the thing through the forest. It was bulky enough without a shoulder strap, full of empty bottles, it would have been torture with full ones. 

The corner of her eyes picked up the lean legs that folded into themselves, pinkened crisping skin shining in the sun as Emma collapsed into the sand next to her. She watched, not really expecting anything, but eager for something to break up the monotony of watching Henry swimming for hours on end. 

Emma did, however, surprise her. And Regina exclaimed out loud in glee at the handfuls of nuts that the woman began pulling out of the suitcase pockets. 

It was completely un-ladylike, definitely not a Queen like thing to do, as she grabbed several and crushed them in her fist, clumsily skinning them, practically shoving the half peeled things in her mouth. 

“Yeah.” Emma sighed a happy sound. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

***


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think maybe I’m the one suffering heat stroke.” She whispered, finally closing her eyes as she angled her face upward. “Or at the very least, a stroke of some sort.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Slowly... slowly... 

***  
For the first time in several days, Regina slept well. It hadn’t rained again so the humidity was manageable, they had a half decent shelter on top of their emergency blankets that softened the ground, and they had found a new source of food. 

She kept her eyes closed, trying to hold onto the last vestiges of sleep and block out their reality. It was amazing just what humans could get used to and appreciate when everything was taken away. A week ago she would not have been caught dead curling up on a sandy blanket under a bunch of rickety leaves outside in the open air. Certainly not without voicing her displeasure loudly to anyone that would or could hear. 

But right then, in that moment, she snuggled up to the soft pillow that… 

“Regina?” Emma’s hesitant voice broke the silence from somewhere much too close. “Uh, are you awake?”

… pillow? 

Regina frowned and opened her eyes to see an expanse of soft pink skin under her cheek. 

“… that’s my tummy.”

She sat up suddenly, blinking the sleep away from her eyes as she blanked her face into an expression free mask and tried not to notice the slick feel of her hand dragging across the skin of Emma’s hip as she pulled away. 

“Sorry.” It came out like a cough. “I didn’t mean…”

And Emma laughed, a soft sound that wasn’t mocking. It was, she was sure, a sound meant for reassurance. 

“Don’t worry about it. If I had somewhere soft, you bet your ass I’d be cuddled right into it.”

Regina frowned. 

“I don’t cuddle.”

Emma laughed louder. This time, Regina was sure, it definitely held a note of teasing. 

“Riiiiight. You were using me as your own personal Swan teddy.”

“You are preposterously childish.” She didn’t huff. Queens did not huff. She just made her point perfectly clear as she edged herself to the open air and moved as far away as possible. “I will forever be amazed at the fact you were considered an adult in this world and allowed to own both a car and an apartment.”

That was certainly not a hurt expression that flittered over Emma’s face in the corner of her eyes as she stood to walk away from the shelter. 

Absolutely not. 

***

Regina wasted quite a bit of time walking by the rock pools. 

She did not feel guilty. Not at all. They often bickered. At the end of the day, it meant nothing. Emma knew that. There was nothing else to be done if the woman suddenly decided to take offence at every little thing. 

Still, Regina kicked at pebbles and watched a crab sidle across back slate rock to dip into a crystal clear pool. She could not name any of the flora or fauna that she saw. The floating fronds could be seaweed of the sort used in cookery around the world, or it could be poisoned for all she knew. She had read about stonefish that hid in pools such as that one, with the exact appearance of the rocks that littered the bottom, who pierced the skin of any unsuspecting passer by foolish enough to stick and hand or foot in. 

Eventually, however, it became ridiculous to hover so close to the sea edge, no matter how far from the campsite. 

She leaned heavily on her branch and trekked back along the beach shore until she found signs of life. A boy, long of limb, his skin turning from an alarming shade of dark pink to light brown, skinny little arms shaking as he smashed a stone in his hand against a larger, flatter rock on the ground. 

As she stepped closer she could see the remnant of nut shells on the sand next to him. 

“I’m making peanut butter.” He offered when she got close enough. “It’s not really working though.”

She hummed in approval. 

“Very enterprising. Keep at it, you’ll get it.”

The sun was bright, not quite high enough in the sky to avoid glare, and she had to raise her hand to shield her eyes as she surveyed the area around them. 

“Where’s Emma?”

He shrugged, a seemingly careless but cagey gesture meant to show how unimportant the answer would be, but telegraphing exactly how much he didn’t believe it. 

“She had stuff to do.”

Well, that was as detailed as she was probably deserving of. ‘Stuff’ could be something as simple as visiting the area they had cordoned off in the distance as a latrine of sorts, gathering firewood, looking for more food, or knowing Emma the woman could be off inventing steam powered motor boats with coconut trees and sand granules. 

She did not question him further, recognising the stubborn tilt to his chin. He was right, of course. 

“I should apologise.” After a pause as she looked at his all too knowing smirk, Regina sighed and corrected her statement. “I will. I will apologise, I promise. This entire situation is extreme and I think we all know I don’t do too well under extreme circumstances. I shouldn’t have put her down when she’s been doing so much for us.”

His face softened and she felt relieved enough to collapse onto the sand next to him, careful not to jostle her injured leg as she did. He didn’t pull away, which she was grateful for. 

“Extreme.” He scoffed. “That’s a nice way to put it. I was really scared, Mom.”  
,   
Regina held her breath. He hadn’t spoken to her about his feelings regarding their situation and, to be honest, it had been a long time since he had felt amicable enough with her to be honest about any of his feelings outside outright disdain for her. 

“They had a gun.”

And in that moment, he was less the emerging teen she had seen lately and more the little boy she had always known, the one that held her hand when they crossed the road and crawled into her bed in the middle of the night, who would lift his cheek for an extra kiss whenever she would put him down. 

“I know, Dear.” She hummed, a soothing tone that came automatically. “I was scared, too. I didn’t think I would…”

Her words would not come. The hesitant, shy, but desperately needy way he slid his hand into hers and let their fingers grasp hold of each other told her that they didn’t need to. There were too many possibilities. She didn’t think she would ever see him again, didn’t think she would survive the fall, didn’t think she would live long enough to hear his forgiveness. 

“Do you think they’re ever going to find us?”

It was a question she had been asking herself relentlessly since the crash, so often it had begun to lose all meaning to her brain, like a word repeated much too often. But the sound of it from her son’s mouth made it fresh again. And doubly painful. 

“Of course they are.” She hoped the lie didn’t sound as obvious as it tasted coming out of her mouth. “They’re just being very slow about it. Like anything, if I want it done properly I should do it myself.”

His smile was weak and tremulous, but it was there. 

“Yeah, Mom.” His voice shook and it saddened something in her to hear the loss of absolute certainty that had always been his calling card. “You would have found us the very first day.”

She squeezed his fingers. 

“In a luxury yacht no less.”

His smile grew a little more sincere. 

“With wifi and a cooler full of soda, a picnic basket with a five course meal, and clothes.”

A little lean to the left and she bumped her shoulder into his. 

“Why stop there? It’s my luxury yacht, it has its own personal chef, a games room, a cinema, and…”

“… a rollercoaster!”

The laughter bubbled out of her throat at his enthusiasm and the absurd picture in her head. It felt good to laugh like that, to honestly forget even for a moment where they were and what may or may not happen. It ended in a sigh. 

“At this point, I would be happy with a hot shower.”

His grin dimmed a little and turned into a small agreement. 

“You should swim in the lake.” He offered. “It’s fresher than the sea. Emma’s got a good system going and if you take it slowly, I bet you could make the walk there and back.”

Regina frowned a little and then sighed again. 

“Maybe.”

They sat in silence, amid sand and nut shells, the warm sun beating down on their skin.

At least, they did until they were rudely interrupted by a lumbering stack of bright red limbs. 

“Hey kid.” Emma’s body hit the sand inelegantly, granules spraying up in every direction, as she nodded cheerfully to Henry, before doing the same in her direction. “Hey Regina. What’s up?”

Because Emma might surprise her on the island with a vast range of skill sets and an incredible penchant for ingenuity in the face of adversity, but she would always be Emma Swan with an endless supply of emotional barricades and bottomless denial strategies to protect herself. 

“Henry’s making peanut butter.”

And Emma’s mouth went slack. 

“Awesome.”

It came out like moan much too personal to be heard in public. Regina felt her face turn red as she looked away. 

“I’m failing to make peanut butter.” Henry corrected, seemingly unaffected by the indecent display of his birth mother. “It’s just little nut crumbs at this point.”

Regina watched Emma screw her face up in thought. 

“I’m not sure they’re actual peanuts, though.”

And then, with all the grace and poise befitting the princess that she was, Emma flopped backwards until she was stretched flat on her back, staring at the sky. 

“That’s it. I’m not moving for a week. Wake me when the rescue copters get here.”

“Mom wants to go to the lake.” Henry insisted. “You should take her.”

“No…”

Her protest came a second too late as Emma had already begun trying to get her body to cooperate in sitting back up. 

“Alright.” The exhaustion was evident in her voice, coming second only to her stubbornness. “Give me a minute to recharge.”

“Emma, no.” With all the energy she possessed, Regina summoned her no nonsense voice. The one she used as Queen, Mayor, and mother of small boys who didn’t want to take a bath. “I am sure I can follow directions through some trees. You are falling down on your feet. You need to stay here and rest before you collapse.”

“Mmmm.” Emma agreed lazily, already falling back to the sand. “But only because I can’t feel my legs anymore. I’ve marked it out, you shouldn’t get lost.”

It did not take her too long to stand up again, her ever present staff nearby, and her body aching like it had begun to feel the twenty eight frozen years she refused to add to her age. When she looked down, Emma had thrown one arm over her face to block the sun from her eyes. Regina skimmed the long, taut body and noted the reddened skin where it was uncovered. 

“Henry, don’t let Emma fall asleep in the sun.”

His private little grin made her frown as she limped off towards the trees. 

***

Regina Mills had lived her adult life as the fabled Evil Queen from fairy tales, she had shared her existence with none other than the likes of Red Riding Hood, Ariel the mermaid, Snow White, Cinderella, Rumplestiltskin, Maleficent, and the Mad Hatter. She had been to several difference realms and had made reality alter with a twitch of her fingertips. She had held the power of life and death and elemental energy in her hands. 

If anything, her history should have made her more open to any possibility. 

But, she had just begun to realise, she had never really believed in the idea of heaven. 

That is, she hadn’t until she found herself floating on her back in a crystal blue lake of pure, unadulterated bliss. Sun twinkled as it filtered through the canopy of tree top leaves that sheltered the lake, thick enough to cut through the heat and leave a nice cool space heady with the fresh scents of water and earth. 

She was surrounded by something she would not call silence, imbued as it was with constant churning of the waterfall, water rippling, and leaves rustling, but the combination proved to be just as peaceful. Soothing. Lulling. 

The water sluiced over her skin, slipping over her limbs and caressing the salt slick heaviness of the past four days from her body. She felt weightless. And free. The cool water leeched the pulsing heat from her leg and she’d ignored the sickly dark red, almost purple pallor of the skin as she’d unwrapped the binding. 

She had found the lake easily enough, that was not surprising. Emma had said she’d marked a trail and she had. Bright blue strips of cloth, once somebody’s shirt she assumed, had been tied to tree trunks at steady intervals ensuring that nobody would get lost to and from the lake or campsite. 

Her clothes lay on the edge of the water, folded because she would always be Regina Mills regardless of life threatening situations, but perhaps not quite as precise as she would usually care to do so. Because she was, after all, perfectly alone at a waterfall on a seemingly deserted island after having survived a plane crash and if that wasn’t a good enough reason to relax a little bit, then there just wasn’t one. 

Not even a week earlier, the footsteps moving through the brush would have annoyed her, irked her beyond reason for disturbing the rare moment of peace she had found. But she merely lowered her legs, righting herself in the water as she looked over to see Emma appear through a thicket of trees. Her hands swished in the water by her sides, keeping her aloft as her feet peddled lazily. 

“Come to check on me, Ms Swan?”

“Join you!” The graceful thing called back as she folded in on herself like a sack of potatoes to sit on the ground and begin awkwardly pulling her boots off. “Henry won’t let me sleep anymore.”

Several things occurred to Regina in that moment. The first and foremost being that she was very close to being naked. The second being that in just a few more moments, Emma would be very close to being naked. 

The third was that she was about to see an inordinate amount of Emma’s skin, more than she had ever seen before, and that patches of the skin she could see was a horrid garish shade of painful, raw red. 

“I told him not to let you sleep in the sun.” She corrected, subtly angling her wrist movements to begin drifting slightly away from the shore without seeming too obvious. “But there’s a perfectly serviceable shelter you can sleep under.”

Regina was surrounded by, soaking in, water. But her mouth still turned a choking form of dry as she could not take her eyes off Emma Swan peeling her shorts down her legs and stripping the shirt from her back, leaving her in a bra and panties. 

“I’m ho-ooo-ooot.” Emma whined. 

“You’re stubborn.” Regina insisted as she began paddling away a little faster. “You refuse to take a rest even when you so desperately need one and now you’re horribly sunburned. On top of that, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were crippled with heat stroke.”

Emma just sighed, her shoulders dropping with defeat as she stepped into the water. 

“You’re welcome. It’s my pleasure to keep us all alive. Any time.”

There was that feeling that was definitely not guilt again. Not at all. But before she could open her mouth to take back the words, Emma clasped her hands in front of her sharply and lunged forward into a rather impressive dive. 

Regina watched her strike forward, an arrow in the water, streaking up to the surface in a neat line. And then, her traitorous eyes refused to look away, as Emma began pumping her arms in a strong freestyle stroke that rippled the muscles of her shoulders. 

Oh, for the love of… 

“I think maybe I’m the one suffering heat stroke.” She whispered, finally closing her eyes as she angled her face upward. “Or at the very least, a stroke of some sort.”

“What?” Regina nearly spluttered as Emma erupted out of the water right next to her face. “Did you say something?”

“No.” She shook her head resolutely. “Absolutely not.”

Emma gave her a suspicious look, but didn’t say anything as she fell backwards, allowing herself to drift off in a slow ripple of water. Regina found herself able to breathe easier with more space and she let herself bob calmly in the water. 

For approximately twenty three second, before Emma’s voice came back. 

“You want a race?” It was loud and cheery and excited all at once. “I bet I could make it to that rock over there before you.”

To her credit, Regina actually looked. The large boulder sat on the other side of the lake, half emerged in water, the sides only slightly damp showing how little the surface actually undulated in the peaceful spot. 

“I would hardly take that bet.” She called back. “Knowing that my leg would slow me down.”

“Oh.” She did not need to see Emma’s face to visualise the way it fell. “Right, sure. Sorry.”

It was not her fault, it was nobody’s fault that she was injured, and yet the palpable way Emma deflated, the inexplicable jovial excitement that had filled her suddenly falling flat pricked at Regina in ways she did not fully comprehend. Her brain filled with images of slicing through the water in a heated race alongside the warm body of Emma Swan. 

Her breath caught hot and heavy in her lungs. 

The increasing awareness of and attraction to Emma and her sleek body was something Regina really needed to get past if she was going to survive this island nightmare. Obviously the highly emotional and traumatic experience had created pathways in her brain that allowed her to cope, that parsed usually banal information through a filter that was infinitely more pleasurable. That was the extent of it, surely. It meant nothing and should be treated as nothing. The possibility that it had been there before hand was something she was not prepared to even consider. 

“We should talk about it.”

Emma bobbed a fair distance to her left. 

“What?” Regina tried not to choke on the nothingness in her throat. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Your leg.” Emma clarified. “I know you’re trying not to worry Henry, but it’s been days, Regina, and I may know first aid, but that’s all it is: aid that’s given first. It’s not meant to be ‘permanent last option aid’.”

If she could disappear from this discussion, she would. 

“I’m fine.”

An annoyed humph sounded from her left. 

“Don’t pull that with me. You’re limping, worse than ever, and you’ve been angling yourself so that I don’t even catch sight of the thing now you’ve got it unwrapped. Plus, you whimper in your sleep.”

If there was solid ground beneath her feet, Regina would use it and stride away. As it was, the decision to storm off in a huff was made infinitely harder to carry out given that she had to _paddle_ to the side first. 

“I say we move.” Emma declared into the churning sound of the waterfall. “Tomorrow morning, pack up the camp and just walk.”

Her leg began to ache just thinking about it. 

“I hardly think that’s an option.”

Bobbing in place was beginning to feel redundant and Regina let herself drift backwards again until she was floating. 

“We have to do something. Seriously, Regina, we’ve been here for four days and there’s been no sight of anyone, no rescuers, no locals, nothing.”

All true. She had no defence to the words and allowed Emma to continue unhindered.

“Setting up a fire and a tent was all well and good when we thought someone was coming for us, but obviously they’re not. We have no idea what’s on this island and I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to spend forever eating scavenged nuts with a sunburn when there was help three days walk from here.”

Regina stared up into the blinking confetti of sky that peeked through the canopy of leaves above her. It was large, so very large, and she was so very, very small. 

“I don’t think I can walk.” She all but whispered it, hating herself from holding back her son, because she knew Emma was right. “Not that far, not that long.”

The sigh that accompanied a gentle ripple was heavy and disappointed. 

“Okay. We’ll wait here.”

She knew then, right then and there, what she had to do. 

“No.” But Emma was two steps ahead of her. “We’re not splitting up and nobody’s being left behind, Regina, so just don’t even say it.”

She listened to the sound of a bird cawing in the sky somewhere beyond her sight, listened to the sound of the waterfall as splattered down, the sound of trees and twigs and leaves blowing in the wind. And Emma, pushing and pulling her limbs through the water. 

“I get that you’re scared.” Of course Emma could not stay silent. “And I get that it’s easier not to do anything, but we can’t wait forever. If your leg gets worse or there’s some kind of sign, I’m making an executive decision to get us moving, otherwise we’ll stay here. Okay?”

And Regina nodded, a small hum of agreement swelling in her throat. 

Then her eyes widened and her body jackknifed in the water. 

“Emma!” She gestured sloppily, spinning around to find the woman. “Emma, look up there!”

***

When Henry was three, she called him her little monkey. 

He would grin and she’d tickle his flailing limbs and they would end up in a pile of arms and legs and awkward elbows, giggling breathlessly. She could recall with startling accuracy just how his little body smelled all clean from his bath, like talcum powder and shampoo, how his breath was minty from the toothpaste, his arms soft inside fluffy pyjamas. 

Her little monkey. 

Regina clutched her elbows and watched Henry’s now considerably longer and slender limbs shimmy up the tree trunk as Emma shaded her eyes and called out directions. 

The both of them chewed their lips and tried not to imagine the soft, ripe flesh of the bananas that dangled above their heads. 

***

“He’s a genius.” 

Emma practically salivated with a moan and Regina tried her best to ignore it as she delicately, and uselessly, brushed sand from her knees. Beside her, Emma was making indecent noises while slavering over the concoction she licked off her fingers. 

“You should try it.”

She was completely surprised, a little bit repulsed, and even perhaps a little bit intrigued about the way Emma managed to speak coherently with her tongue poking between the webbing of her third and fourth fingers. 

“You should try behaving like a human being.” 

Emma merely shrugged and scooped more goop from the flat stone in front of her. 

“Banananut butter.” It came out like a suggestion. “He should bottle it. He’d be a millionaire and we could mooch off him for the rest of our lives.”

Then the absolutely lewd tongue action was back as Emma began cleaning all traces of it from her skin. 

“Aw, come on.” This time, Emma’s voice had taken on a wheedling tone and Regina grew concerned. “You should try it. It’s delicious.”

And Regina stared down, horrorstruck, at the sticky hand that was offered to her. She shook her head. 

“You’re going to get tired of plain bananas soon enough.” 

Wheedled Emma as she waved the hand in front of Regina’s face. Regina inched backwards, jostling her position in the sand. She looked seaward to see Henry throwing stones into the waves and inspecting the shoreline, and considered calling out to him for help. 

“You know you want to.” 

It was stupid, asinine, foolish, and the light in Emma’s eyes was a spark of a challenge that dared her to just give in, but she would not, could not, and absolutely refused to do so. 

“I’m not going to lick your fingers, Ms Swan!”

The words came out rushed, slightly panicked, and the glimmer immediately died in Emma’s eyes as a flush overtook her face and she backed away. The goop ridden hand dropped awkwardly to the side as if the woman did not know what to do with it and really just wished for a large bucket to stick it in. 

“Yeah, right. Of course not.” Then Emma stood up. “I… uh… should go do that thing.”

That thing was, of course, yet another unexplained task that Emma pushed herself to do to stay away from the harpy she was stuck with. Avoidance was obviously key when it came to Regina and the woman was learning quickly. 

She sighed as she saw Henry approaching. 

“Here.” He offered. “I found you an empty shell you can use as a spoon.” 

Regina dropped her head onto her knees and felt like groaning her frustration. 

***

“Ow.”

Regina winced in sympathy, but said nothing. 

“Ow.”

They had spread the blankets out on the sand and Regina lay on her back, hands folded neatly on her stomach as she looked up at the sky. The stars were endless above them and the night an inky blue. Henry’s soft snore bled into the background, a somnambulant hum that merged with waves breaking and trees whispering. 

“Ow.”

And Swans complaining. 

“Ow. Ow. Ow.”

Regina winced again and rolled onto her side. 

“I’m not sure there’s much we can do.”

Emma lay on her stomach, head resting on her wrists folded underneath her brow. She had shucked her shirt and left her shoulders bare to the night air, hoping for some reprieve. Unfortunately, there was not a lot of reprieve to be had for the crisp raw redness of Emma’s sunburn. 

Her only answer was a whimper. 

“If we were home, I could easily take away the pain. There are countless home remedies that would otherwise be readily available.”

She was not certain what her words would accomplish, it seemed almost cruel to taunt Emma with cures that were well out of their reach, but she had noticed that the complaints and whimpers were less when she was speaking. 

“I actually keep aloe vera gel in the fridge at home, it’s wonderful for minor skin irritations and burns.”

Regina eyed the expanse of skin in front of her. She could not help but wince again at the rawness of it, the bright red blotched with large paler patches she was sure would turn into blisters within a matter of hours. 

“Henry…”

Emma’s voice was cracked and throaty. 

“At least there’s one aspect in which he does not take after you.” She did not voice the obvious accompaniment to that, the recent knowledge of where he _would_ have gotten his skin tone. “He went a little red and then turned tan. We should be grateful for that.”

Even turning her head caused Emma to groan in pain. 

If she hovered her hand closer to Emma, Regina could feel the heat radiating off her skin. It felt toxic and dangerous. It was surprising how easily she had adjusted to moving around her leg in a matter of days, instinctively coming up with new patterns of movement that limited jostling her ankle. 

“Here.” She said it gently as she offered the bottle. “I’ll douse you again.”

Emma said nothing, which she supposed was as good an agreement as she was going to get, and then Regina slowly and gently poured a stream of cool water over the bared back. She could almost hear the hiss as the fluid hit the enraged skin. She definitely heard the hiss of pain from Emma’s lips. 

“Aloe vera’s a plant, right?” Emma gasped. “Maybe there’s some on this island?”

Regina raised her brow. 

“Perhaps. All you have to do is tell me exactly what it looks like and I’ll go searching for it.”

Emma screwed up her face, as much as she was able with taut red skin pulling her features tight. 

“Erm… it looks like green gel in a bottle?”

“Yes.” Regina screwed the top back on the water and set it with the empties. “Well, I shall keep a look out for the bottle tree and then we’ll be in business.”

There was no response to that, which Regina took as a good thing. At least there was no offence, which seemed to be her main form of communication with Emma lately. Looking down, she eyed the form lying on the ground, Emma’s head turned away from her. She reached over gently and threaded her fingers through crackling blonde hair that was tucked to the side of a neck. 

They were all in need of a good shampoo and conditioner at that point. 

Emma’s entire body tightened, but she did not complain, nor did she move away as Regina gathered the rest of her hair in both hands and began twisting it through her fingers. 

She did let out an amused, low little chuckle though. 

“Can you imagine if they saw us now?” Emma managed. “You and me being so _nice_ to each other?”

There were many cutting remarks that came naturally to her tongue, about how she wasn’t being nice to Emma, merely assuring her survival, but perhaps she had begun to think before she spoke when it came to the woman capable of saving her life instead of pulling it apart. 

“You should keep this off your neck.” She said instead, twisting the braid around so that it sat over the crown of Emma’s head. “Before the sun comes up, you should put a shirt back on to cover your shoulders, it might help to take off your bra as well. It will only constrict you and if you blister it will only make it less pleasant.”

“Thank you, Regina.” 

Emma’s voice was a sleepy, grateful hum as Regina’s fingers finished plying her hair. 

Regina did not smile as she sat back and looked up at the moon. 

She did not.   
***  
TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There was probably only one thing worse than imagining having to massage lotion into Emma Swan's taut and rippling muscles as they completed their transformation from bright red to a softer tan. The reality of having Emma's hands on her body._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** omfg, what the hell is this? An update? Who knew?!??! Not me. Now, I think that's one of the four horses of the apocalypse. I wonder what the other three are?
> 
>  **A/N2:** Commenting works people. This is proof, I brushed it off and finished ch 4. 
> 
> **A/N3:** Chapter five? BUAH HAH HAH. Who the hell knows? Maybe? If I ever do it. My writing has been exactly zilch these past few weeks.

***

Regina hit the stone into the sheet of metal again. 

She was used to the strange looks she was getting from both Emma and her son, but she continued determined. Before her sat several large stones, the product of the impromptu scavenger hunt she had sent them both on that morning. Relatively even and of similar size, they would do the job nicely. 

“Henry.” She said once she thought she was ready. “I want you to go bathe in the lake. And I want you to stay there until Emma comes to get you, do you understand? No matter what you hear?”

His face paled and he looked between her and Emma for clarity. Emma silently examined the first sheet of metal Regina had formed into a dome shape and did not speak, nor did she meet Regina’s eyes. 

“Henry?” Regina prompted, her voice shaking only once. “Did you hear me?”

He nodded then, looking more like her little boy than he had since they had landed, and then began treading slowly and reluctantly into the brush. She knew he read the seriousness of her request, knew he was worried, knew she was frightening him. 

But it was, perhaps, not unwarranted. 

The second he was out of sight, she placed the folded metal blade over the reddened embers of the fire she had not let them put out that morning. 

“You’re insane.” Emma had found her voice. “You’re fucking insane, Regina.”

She shrugged, accepting the insult, and pushed the large rocks into place above a low segment of their fire. Then balanced one of the domed metal sheets on top of them. 

“Pass me some water bottles, please.”

“Absolutely off your fucking rocker, did you know that?” But Emma complied. “If you think for one minute that I’m going to…”

Calmly, and with more nerve than she believed herself capable of, Regina began pouring water into the makeshift bowl. It took nearly six bottles before she figured it was enough, then sat back down and gently began removing the bandage around her leg. 

“Man, I figured the Evil Queen would be into some sick shit, but this just… holy fuck.”

Regina knew the instant Emma saw her lower limb, the extent of the damage. 

“Regina, Jesus Christ, why didn’t you tell me?”

She breathed in and held it for a count of five, then exhaled. 

“I’m telling you now.”

They could not sit still for another day. They had to move. Just as Emma had suggested at the lake, they needed to trek around the island to search for avenues of rescue. But they could not walk with her ankle in its current state. Swollen, a dark bluish black in the centre, with bright angry red lines in jagged outcroppings spearing out from it. 

No matter what they did, Regina could not do nothing. 

She filled the second bowl with a small amount of cooled water. 

“It’s not going to be pleasant.”

Emma’s face goggled. 

“Pleasant? Are you kidding me right now, Regina? Do you even know what you’re doing?”

She eyed the rest of the materials she had gathered. Several abandoned clothes torn into strips and rags, some sticks, and a glaring absence of pain killers or anaesthetic. 

“I have some experience with it.”

Disbelief was high on Emma’s emotional scale. That, coupled with a healthy dose of reluctance and disgust at the job at hand, made her particularly adverse to any of her comments. 

“Experience? Right.” A scoff. “You forget I’ve met your mother. I doubt very much Cora was grooming you to be Queen and still leaving you to deal with festering wounds by cauterization!”

She closed her eyes, both at the unpleasant imagery and the memories. It was a side of herself she was not particularly eager to revisit or share, but she had to keep control of the situation somehow. 

“As a girl? No. But as the Evil Queen, it was a useful technique in keeping prisoners alive longer during their punishment. I haven’t done it, but I’ve watched many a guard perform it.”

The goggle of Emma’s eyes, her gaping mouth, was replaced by a blank expression. The woman’s face closed completely off and her eyes narrowed. Regina could practically see the pupils constrict. She decided to push through the instruction without giving Emma much time to dwell on that information. 

“I’m going to tip the boiling water into the cooler bowl, taking the scald off it, then we’ll steep some cloths in the water and lay them on the infected area.” She allowed herself a second to breathe, trying not to imagine the pain. “After the heat has softened the wound crust and brought the infection to the surface, you’ll need to cleanse the wound with more heated cloths.”

If Emma was any younger, she would probably have plugged her ears, started shaking her head, and begun shouting at the top of her voice. As it was, her jaw was set and her mouth firmly and thinly stretched tight in a grimace. 

“When the infection is cleared, you’ll need to use the heated blade to cauterize the wound. Pack it with the cleaner strips over there and finally tie it with another stick for a splint. Are you ready?”

“No.” Emma shook her head firmly. “Uh uh. This is fucked up.”

“I can’t walk, Emma.” Her voice trembled again and Regina clenched her fists to try to hold it in. “And we need to walk to get off this island. Any longer like this and I’m going to lose my leg, at best. If the infection spreads too far…”

She did not say horrible, painful, ugly death. But by the look on Emma’s face, she did not need to. 

“I am never going to be ready for this.” Emma declared as she stood and grabbed a stick, hooking a cloth with it. “So let’s just do it.”

The water hissed as it poured over the hot metal, splashing into the bowl below and to the side. Steam rose in the air and Regina bit her lip as Emma lowered the garish orange cloth into it. 

“I’m sorry.” Emma whispered as she bought the steaming cloth close to her leg. “I’m so sorry…”

Regina arched as the pain hit her, a white hot heat that went so far beyond red it was indescribable.

***

It did not get cold on the island. There was the heat of day and the slightly less sunstroke causing warmth of the night. 

It did not get cold, but Regina woke shivering. 

“Emma.” She made out the sound of her son. He sounded close, close but indistinct, as if he was talking underwater. “She’s awake.”

She groaned as she tried to roll over, tried to sit up, and the world swam, her head dropped and she felt nausea rise in her belly.

“Shh. Hey.” Then there were hands. Soft, gentle, cool hands that brushed damp hair from her forehead, lifted her head, and rested it on a warm, comfortable cushion. “Here, drink this. Water will help.”

The water practically sizzled as it passed her cracked, dry lips. Regina felt herself moan in approval at the clean, fresh taste of it sliding down her throat. 

Another groan crackled out of her mouth as she fell back down, limp, and rested her head on the warm pillow she could finally deduce as skin. A lap. 

“Go back to sleep.” Emma whispered down at her. “Get some rest.”

***

The next time Regina woke, her head was clearer and it was dark. 

Fire crackled nearby and she recognised the flimsy leafed hut around her. To the left, she could hear the soft, snuffling almost snore of her sleeping son. But she could not hear Emma. 

She could, however, feel all her limbs. 

Regina sat up.

Obviously, she was not as silent or as subtle as she thought she was. A face appeared from outside the structure. 

“You’re up!” Emma’s face looked positively glowing. “And you look better, thank fuck.”

She frowned at the obscenity, but did not respond to it. Instead, she braved a glance down at her leg. It looked swollen, but it was hard to tell what was swelling and what were haphazard rags tied around her wound. 

“Don’t touch it.” Emma warned as she shuffled down and into the shelter. “Perhaps give it another day or so. I don’t know. What do you think?”

Regina cleared her throat. 

“What happened?”

The look Emma gave her was one of incredulity and hidden anger. 

“A lot of scary shit, that’s what happened. You fainted. I cleaned the crap out of that leg the best I could, then I seared your leg. And I will never eat barbecue again, so thanks for that by the way, then I patched you up. And that’s when you got a fever.”

Of course. She nodded. She should have expected that. 

“Most of the infection was cleaned.” Her voice crackled painfully in her dry throat. “But some must have been absorbed back into my body.”

Emma set her jaw. 

“You think?”

The air that swirled around them was still and heavy with crackling fear. Regina looked down at her hands twisted in her lap, unable to meet Emma's eyes. 

“Thank you.” 

She said it quietly, but it was heard. 

“Just don't...” Anger dissipated into the trembling of a voice and Regina could hear the struggle Emma used to try and hold it back. “... don't do that again, okay?”

“I shall try very hard not to, believe me.”

It was a serious moment, of course it was, but Regina could still see the wry twist of Emma's lips as she looked at the silhouette of the woman looking away from her. Emma was framed by the entrance to the hut, a halo of firelight behind her. 

“Here.” Regina found a hand thrust out towards her. “Drink some more water.”

***

Water had its benefits, she was sure, but Regina had never felt so grateful for solid food in her life. 

Well, as much as crushed nuts and bananas could be counted as solid. Her stomach could probably not support anything firmer at any rate. She was feeling better. Already she could tell that, though it was still incredibly sore, her leg would recover much more than she had expected it would. Perhaps she might even try to walk on it soon. 

Her head was getting clearer and she could focus on things a lot better. 

Which may or may not have been a good thing, considering the only things she really had to focus on were Henry and Emma. Not surprisingly, Henry was solicitous, fetching her food and water and bringing back large, leafy branches to fortify their meagre hut. She revelled in the extra attention and affection, the hugs she had been denied for so long. 

But Emma, oh, the foolish, contemptible, irritating, indispensable, heroic, beautiful, temptress of a woman, Regina could not escape her. She was as solicitous as her son, fussing over whether Regina ate enough, drank enough, was comfortable enough and, at some point, Regina felt sure she would snap and yell. 

She didn't. 

She didn't, because she knew what Emma had done and how hard it had been and any time she felt the irritation fester, all she had to do was take a quick sidelong glance at her and Regina had to bite her lip. It seemed Emma spent her entire day stretching taut, well developed muscles, making obscene sounds in the back of her throat when she was able to catch a moment's rest or grab some food, flashing skin where no skin should be. 

Without the constant nagging fear of losing her leg, Regina was once again faced with a highly inconvenient attraction. 

It would be tempting, sitting in the haze of the midday sun, as her son swam to get some relief, to reach over and touch the skin that taunted her, the shape of Emma's neck, her shoulder, the dent between her collarbones, swipe the stray rivulet of sweat that ran down her abdomen. 

Regina coughed. 

“You okay?”

Emma turned quickly and Regina felt eyes scanning her. 

“Fine.” She huffed. “A person can clear their throat without the world ending.”

A shrug was her only response as Emma went back to staring out towards the ocean. She barely noticed the sound of the waves any more, a constant backdrop. The lack of it would probably disturb her more at that point. 

What did catch her eye was the casual, subconscious movement next to her. Regina watched, morbidly curious, as Emma's hand rubbed against her shoulder. A large patch of skin flaked off and revealed a shiny, darker hue. The closer she looked, Regina could see the ragged edges of peeling skin, falling back like a tide line from various places over Emma's body. Her nose crinkled and she wished absently for some moisturiser. 

Wait... 

No, she told herself adamantly. She did not need any sort of lotion that would need to be smoothed all over Emma's skin, preferably by her own hands.

Regina sighed.

*** 

There was probably only one thing worse than imagining having to massage lotion into Emma Swan's taut and rippling muscles as they completed their transformation from bright red to a softer tan. The reality of having Emma's hands on her body. 

Regina bit her lip and stifled the gasp. 

“You ok?”

Well, she'd tried to stifle it. 

The large branch Henry had found for her was a capable crutch, but she was still quite unsteady on her feet, a very noticeable limp impeding her progress. The walk to the lake was out of the question alone, however it was manageable if Emma helped. 

And so Regina struggled along the set path with a strong arm around her waist and tried not to feel the fingers that curled around her side. 

She honestly, truly, needed to get off the island. 

All three of them had lost weight, their bodies changing faster than was healthy, surely. Emma's body seemed to trim whatever minuscule bits of fat she'd had and built muscle with it instead. Henry had dropped any last remaining baby fat he'd had left and slimmed right down, a string bean in shorts. Regina had lost weight and felt fragile and sickly. 

Of course, she'd done significantly less physical activity than the others. 

They all needed a decent feed and some proper rest, but most of all, Regina needed space. She needed a tall glass of something exceedingly strong and enough time to forget the warmth and safety that Emma provided. 

A hip shuffled against hers, and coupled with the arm holding her, combined to balance her awkward and slightly painful gait. 

“Good.” Emma encouraged. “If we can make the lake today, we might be up to walking further along the shoreline tomorrow.”

She was not sure if she still had some remnant of the fever left, but Regina was fairly certain she could _smell_ the lake before it came into sight. The scent of water, green and earthy, different than the salt tang of the shore they lived with. Such improvements of the senses took time to build, surely, they hadn't been there that long. 

She shook her head. 

Time was irrelevant, it played tricks on her. She knew that circumstances altered perception, had known it as a child in the Enchanted Forest. Ordeals could make an hour seem like a lifetime and pleasantries could drain the hourglass quicker than Rocinante could run. 

The ground under her feet became softer, the plants lusher, and the rushing sound of the waterfall hit her ears. As the lake finally came into view, Regina felt every patch of sweat soaked skin and cringed, wanting to do nothing but dive straight in. 

There was one small problem first. 

“Wait.” It slipped out of her mouth in a croak and she felt herself falling limp. “I need to just... sit.”

Her body was leached of all strength and she hadn't had enough time to recover properly. 

Emma lowered her to a nearby stone, large enough to sit on. And of course, of course, Emma knelt down right in front of her and began taking off her shoes. She wished, for just once, even for a fraction of a second, Emma would falter, would make a mistake, would do something foolish or selfish. Anything that Regina could sneer at and finally distance herself again. 

Instead, she got the feel of gentle hands being careful with her, sliding her shoes off her feet and placing them to the side. The rough twigs and packed earth felt strangely good against the bare soles of her feet. Real and tangible. 

“Hey, come on.” Emma's voice brought her back to reality as she blinked her eyes up again, away from the focus of her toes and back to the whole picture. “We made it all the way here, don't pike out on me now.”

After a few minutes of just breathing, she felt ready to attempt to bathe, shrugged her clothes off awkward and stilted but serviceable. The feel of cool, crisp water made her moan out loud and she allowed herself to drift deeper with her eyes closed. Not too deep, not enough to be more than waist deep. There would be no floating towards the middle of the lake when she felt so weary she could fall asleep in the blink of an eye. 

She could hear the rippling of the water, feel the current of it shift as Emma joined her. 

“Better?”

The voice was closer than she thought it would be and Regina did not, absolutely did not, imagine Emma in her underwear, shifting through the lake so close to her. 

“God, yes.” It rumbled out of her throat. “This is exactly why I refuse to get sick. It's disgusting.”

And Emma laughed, throaty and real, a release of tension. 

“Come on, then. Let's wash off and get back to Henry. He's worse than Mary Margaret right now, with the hovering and the nagging.”

A chuckle built up in her throat, the image of her son hovering over her since she'd woken up planted solidly in her brain. He really was like a mother hen, an over active mother hen, but it was not an unwelcome image. She would never complain about the enthusiasm of her son's love. 

When she opened her eyes she could see the sparkle of the sun through the spaces the leaves left behind in the balcony of branches above them. Her limbs felt light and weightless, like she could fly up and away instead of bobbing down on Earth. 

Even her ankle, swollen and cumbersome as it was, felt lighter, easier than it had in days, better than it had since she'd woken up on this sand encrusted hellscape. 

She washed gently, slowly, an absent sort of brushing of her hand over skin. She took the moments to feel the way her fingers smoothed over her ribs and neck and knees, the way her fingers joined and met between the webbing of each other, appreciated her body in a way she hadn't let herself do in a long time. 

And she definitely, absolutely, did _not_ hear, listen, or pay attention to the rippling of water behind her, the suggestion of Emma doing the same. There was no surreal form of intimacy in the act of bathing together. Not in the middle of a lake in a deserted island with no other option. It was necessity, that was all it was. 

Strangely, though they were no closer to rescue or escaping the island than they were before they'd taken care of her leg, Regina felt peaceful. It felt as if things had settled down, become calmer, had sorted themselves out some little bit. 

She'd been lured into a false sense of peace, she discovered as soon as she attempted to leave the water. Keeping afloat, manoeuvring herself in the water, was easy when she was weightless, but infinitely harder once the force of gravity hit her. And hit her hard. 

She stumbled, of course she did. 

And Emma caught her. Of _course_ she did. 

“Hey.” Soft, slick arms slid around her waist. “You ok? Let's slow down a bit.”

“I'm fine.” It came out as a grumble, even as she leaned in to the body against her. “I'm just...”

“You're healing.” Emma's voice aid right into the skin of her neck and... yeah sure, why not, why _wouldn't_ Emma just breathe heavily against the sensitive skin there and make her tremble? “Give yourself a break, huh?”

Regina really, honestly, was sick and tired of Emma and her muscles and her skin and her absurdly annoying _helpfulness_. 

She pushed away and took a few steps by herself onto the rock bed that held their things. She was woozy and swayed more than once, had to stop to close her eyes and regain her equilibrium, but out of sheer luck Emma took the hint, stayed back and let her have the moment. 

Letting herself fall gracelessly down felt better than it had a right to, she folded in on herself next to her small pile of what was loosely dubbed clothing. 

“Well.” Because even if Emma picked up on her need for autonomy, she still had to fill the silence. “It looks like we'll have to build up your stamina before we really begin hiking anywhere.”

Regina wanted to lie back, close her eyes, and just fall asleep right there. Instead, she sighed, and managed to look up at Emma standing on the rocks. She realised her mistake the second the sunlight twinkling through the tree leaves danced across muscled limbs and honed features. 

“I. Am. Fine.”

“Yeah.” Emma shook herself like a dog, an actual dog, and bared herself to the sun. “Absolutely. In the meantime, however, if you wanna get back to camp, do you want a piggy back?”

She had not eaten since she left camp, had rinsed her mouth completely in the cool, crisp water, and yet Regina felt the skin of her throat clamping down on something solid as she began to cough. 

“A what?” She managed to splutter. “You want me to what?”

Emma sighed, clearly biting down on frustration. 

“Look, we've been gone a while, Henry's alone back at camp waiting for us. I just think, let's not push your ankle too much all at once, okay?”

The very idea of it not only made that inner Queenly voice inside her cringe, it also made her uncomfortable for completely different reasons that she was really not going to go into details with Emma right that very moment. 

“You fully expect me to, what, clamber up your back like some peasant?”

Another sigh. 

“Listen, I'll put you down before we get near the camp and you can hobble all on your own so Henry can see you. Nobody has to know. You're not going to be shamed forever. Just let me help you, alright?”

As if Emma had done anything else since the plane had gone down. 

“I can't expect you to carry me...”

But Emma wouldn't let her get the sentence out. 

“That's bullshit. I've made the trip at least three times with a suitcase full of bottled water. I doubt very much your skinny ass weighs more than that.”

Regina breathed in. Counted to five. Then breathed out. 

“Fine.”

***

One day, Regina would learn to listen to her instincts. 

Emma managed very well with Regina on her back, walking the path and over the rocks like she was carrying nothing heavier than a small backpack, with seemingly little effect to her at all. Regina did not fare so well. 

At least on the inside. 

Her arms felt awkward wrapped around Emma's neck and she tried not to cling too hard or impede her breathing, which left her the unsavoury choice of keeping hold by tightening her thighs around Emma's waist. She felt open in ways she really didn't want to examine, what, with the way Emma's hands wrapped around her legs, holding onto her, the way Emma's pace made their bodies bounce and slide together. 

Regina was definitely not thinking of more pleasurable ways their near naked, sweaty bodies could work in sync together. Not at all. Not a bit. Not even for the full thirty minutes it took for them to trek the path. 

If she was breathing raggedly, it had absolutely nothing to do with fantasies she could not control in the heat of the sun. 

Nothing to do with the way she imagined Emma's touch sliding solicitously over the outside of her thighs, or the way Emma would hold her breath sometimes, or the rapid bird beat of pulse she could feel under her forearms. 

Nothing to do with the little moan she could feel forming in her throat when Emma finally let her legs drop down and she felt the entire front of her body rasping down Emma's spine. 

Not at all. 

It was the heat and her possible sunstroke and when the hell were they going to get rescued?

***  
end chapter four.


End file.
